Nicole
by Coopseville
Summary: There was a reason he was on the ship, though it seemed too far gone to recollect. There had to be something here, right?


**Confusion.**

That has been the theme of his life the past few months. A constant struggle to retain what he was supposed to remember.

 _But what was it?_

He was supposed to do something. It was… important. It was difficult to recall. Like trying to remember a dream after waking. He had a mission, a purpose, a reason to be aboard this forsaken ship. But why was he the only one here? Aside from the creatures that he had become so proficient at dismembering, there seemed to be nothing. That couldn't be it. This ship was lost at space, the sickness contained. These... _things,_ could have been left to die on their own.

 **He felt lost.**

He had been aboard this ship for….

He couldn't remember. Months? Years? Time wasn't relevant anymore. Like an animal in the wild he relied completely on instinct. There was no time, no schedule, no structure. Just madness, controlled by the animalistic nature of his surroundings.

 **Something was different.**

This wasn't his first encounter with the creatures. There hadn't been a day in what seemed like forever where he didn't have to fight off at least one. He had become an expert on their disposal.

 _Aim for the limbs._

It seemed to slow them down. Taking the head accomplished nothing, although it was a good way to ensure their demise once they had stopped twitching.

But somehow, after countless fights, this wasn't the same. The bodies surrounding him were very familiar indeed, but the corpse in the corner of the room seemed odd, out of place. As he now stood above it, the his mind started ticking like a clock. It's internal circuits grinding like rusted gears. Working. Thinking. It took him what felt like hours to put the pieces together. Like a riddle you didn't know you were supposed to solve.

But once he did it all changed.

His senses took control.

 **His legs went numb.**

As his knees buckled and he crashed to the floor, the pain was suppressed by his inability to think. His focus was elsewhere. His physical condition was no longer at the forefront of his mind. The pain he felt in his shoulders from where the suit rubbed against them. The sweat sliding down from his hairline, mixing with tears he didn't know were there. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth from when a creature had struck him.

There was nothing except what lay in front of him.

 **His hands start to shake.**

The feel is familiar. His past and present colliding together. Sending debris and shrapnel that could only be sorted by a clear head. His couldn't be farther away. As he stared at the cold, dead figure his hands started to sweat, his face burned hot, and his muscles tensed. He was angry.

 _Polluted_.

Something so pure tainted by a nightmare that was all too real. His physical and mental state were at war, trying to accept what he already knew. His mind telling him that what he saw, what he felt, what he held in his weary arms wasn't real.

 **He remembers.**

He remembers it all. Suppressed memories creep through his clouded mind, beckoning for a revival, an encore. _Something._

One word echoes through the walls of his subconscious, reaching out like a plant to sunlight. It's leaves spreading to embrace the glow of what will keep it alive. Barely clinging to life. Forced into the deep recesses of a mind that has tried so hard to forget.

But he never forgot. It was always there. Calling out. Begging to be heard. A single thread hanging on to the hope that one day it will be woven into his life once more.

 **The fog dissipates.**

Everything came back at once. The empty highways in his head were now filled with rush hour traffic. His voice let out a quick, but hard cry as reality sunk in. Both the physical and mental pain flooding his brain. The broken ribs in his chest making it hard to breathe. The hairline fracture in his ankle would not let him stand.

The devastation of loss and failure to bring the fog back.

As he fell forward and his consciousness began to fade, the brief lapse in the secure numbness of his mind allowed him to remember once more. The hope was gone, lost along with the lifeless body that now lay next to his. A sort of relieve washed over him knowing that his fight was done. His mission, though not successful, was over.

The last clear thought in his mind was not of hope, not of wishes or desires, but of a memory. And as he drifted into the sea of unconsciousness, he spoke. A singe word. The one suppressed for so long it was almost foreign. But it felt good, and rolled smoothly off of his tongue. He remembered everything, and allowed himself to be lost in it.

A name.

 _Her_ name.


End file.
